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2014.01.08 - Demons in the Mist
Upper Metropolis - Midtown Center Midtown Center is a hub of attractions, anchored by the presence of the landmark that is Grand Central Terminal. Stretching from 34th to 57th Streets, and 6th through 3rd Avenues, it also boasts Radio City Music Hall, St. Patrick's Cathedral, the Waldorf Hotel, Bryant Park, and the New York Public Library. ---- A cold winter's morning in Metropolis. The sky is overcast and, thanks to the differential between the heat of the city and the cold air that's rolled in off the harbor, there's a thin fog at ground level. (Ground level, in this case, being as high as 15' off the deck.) It lends the city a grey, unfocussed quality and distorts sound subtly simply because of the visual tricks it plays and the way that naturally messes with human perception rather than any unusual properties. (It's just fog.) Despite that, this is New York City. This is Midtown Metropolis in the City that Never Sleeps. And it's morning, now. So, yes. It's busy. Cars choke the road, honking at each other in that way only New Yorkers can really appreciate. Pedestrians do fill the street, because even though the holiday tourist peak is past, it's Midtown. There are plenty enough native citizens to fill the sidewalks without the extra influx of gawkers from the sticks. And then the inevitable happens. There's a screech. The crunch of metal against metal. An indignant cry of, "Hey! I'm walkin' here!" followed by the slap of fists on a hood and more shouting. Steam rises up from a beneath a trashed hood ornament... And that's just the normal stuff. The real bedlam begins when a loud, cracking BOOM echoes through the concrete canyons. A cryoquake, maybe? Like they've been talking about on Twitter... It sounds either like a distant bomb has gone off... or several water mains broke all at once. Sewer grates and manhole covers rattle in their casings. Then, all throughout Midtown, the icy fog begins to swirl and flow, thin haze becoming denser fog that congeals into disparate forms - some tall and thin, others squat and bulky, and many other variations in between. The forms are each pale, however, shades of grey, pasty white, black and tinged with blue. Razor sharp bone or rock jut from their bodies. Black, pearlescent eyes glow in their skulls. Their teeth and claws are sharp. Their muscles strong and sinewy. And many of them are armed with ancient shields and gladiatorial weapons from dead Empires long since fallen. It's when they appear... That's when the screaming starts. And the running. And the general mayhem mobs of frightened people are so famous for. Fun times, right? A Clinton Street Apartment... A mess of black hair looks like a follicle explosion against the white of the pillow as Clark Kent sleeps face down. He'd called in to work today; the culmination of a host of events: The funeral, Darkseid's invasion, thieves stealing kryptonite from "secure" government safehouses, and late hours at the Justice League. Superman doesn't need to sleep much, but when he does, he really sleeps. *ARF! ARFARF!* The white dog at the foot of Clark's bed is hopping up and down, backing up and going low, and leaping in the air to bite at the bare heels of his owner. "Krypto. . .what do you want?" murmurs Clark, sliding his hands underneath his pillow. *ARF! ARF!* Clark turns over and opens one eye as he look back at the dog. "What, boy? Metropolis is in trouble?" A small exhaust of air is let out in a sigh. A split second later the closet door is open and the hanger is still swaying back and forth. The pair left the room so quickly that they both forgot to close the window behind them. Gonna be a chilly re-entry, boys. It was way too cold outside. Yet here Jocelyn was, dressed in a winter jacket, walking outside. She had some appointment that she was going to keep. After Genosha and the Horsemen, the young X-Man had taken a little bit of downtime. Maybe because she'd been thrown into so much so quickly. She'd also spent some time studying so she can actually jump into the next term of school ready to go for a change. However, being a mutant has it's perks, and she was definitely converting some energy around her body to warm herself. Being a mutant had it's perks. That's when she notices some serious magic mojo going on as she goes near a building, her sight picking up on that twisted magic and...maybe life signatures? That didn't seem right. The energy absorber pulls in some solar energy to boost her physical capabilities as she frowns. Jocelyn then picks up the pace and darts around to see what looks like a bunch of magical gladiators. "Well, back into the thick of it," Jocelyn mutters to herself as she attempts to see if she can draw the magical energy out of one of the gladiators and 'deconstruct' what appeared to her to be a construct of some type. It might not work, but if it did, that would sure simplify things! "What do the magic users always say? Look for the source". And with that thought, Jocelyn attempts to scan the energy she could see to determine where it was coming from and who/what it was, or if there was at least a life sign attached to it. Because the magic wielder, if there was one, had to be nearby. Take out the source, take out the problem. Fun times indeed. Some days it doesn't pay to walk out your door. Especially when you're just getting paid to do some routine detective work. That was on Sam Simeon's plate for the day... but then some sadistic cosmic joke has to drop what looks like Undead Warriors into his lap. Sam drops the donut that he was eating while engaged in his stakeout and brushes back one side of his trenchcoat. Pulling free one of his custom handguns... looks like he's going to be needing her. "Someone really needs to check under these cities for a Hellsmouth or something." Sam mutters to himself as the screaming and panicking begins.... which he tries his best to stop from making things worse. Suggesting along with his mental woogie that makes most see him as human, that any civilians beat cheeks in a calm and orderly manner. He hates enforcing his will on others... but at times it's necessary. But it does give one a hell of a headache. What is it with Metropolis and their taste for supernatural monstrosities attacking them at all hours? Are they too good for the normal sociopath running rampant? Can they not settle for an old fashioned crime lord? More importantly, why is that Jason always has to be in the section of the city under attack? He lets out a faint sigh from atop his bike as he looks out from his dark alleyway onto the streets filled with the walking dead, one hand moving instinctively to the sub-machine gun attached to the chassis. He pulls it free with a practiced move and checks the magazine before revving the engine and cycling through a variety of vision filters to see through the mist. "I may be a hypocrite," he murmurs to nobody as he prepares to join the fray, "but why can't the dead ever just stay dead?" With a roar, Hood kicks the bike into motion and it barrels out into the street, scattering a few fleeing pedestrians and swiping the legs out from underneath a pair of undead warriors as he slides the rear wheel around and points the bike down the street. "Your first mistake was bringing swords to a gun fight," he shouts into the thick of the horde as he levels the sub-machine gun on the nearest gladiator, "Your second mistake was pulling your rotting asses out of the sewer right in front of me." He opens up, doing little to aim at specific appendages, clearly more concerned with mowing them down under a hail of gunfire and crushing them beneath the tires of his bike as he speeds off down the street, causing as much destruction as he possibly can. "Alright, I take it back... This is actually kind of fun." Chaos is a lovely thing, isn't it? There is one entity present at least who abhors normalcy, nay is the very antithesis of normalcy. Clinging tightly to the concrete wall of a nearby tower, camouflaged near completely to normal sight, is the alien-human hybrid calling itself Agony. Crawling slowly past a well-lit office building, with a subtle warping of light with every calculated movement, the creature's claws leave behind evidence of its presence. If there was one thing they hated more than normalcy, it was not being the one to shatter the quiet. "BONES!" It screams suddenly out loud, before becoming visible. "TASTY BONES! ... NO! THOSE DON'T LOOK TASTY, WE DON'T KNOW WHERE THEY'VE BEEN! ... THEY MIGHT KILLLL THE HUMANSSS THOUGH..." An oily, black, fist pounds the concrete wall, generating spider cracks. "NO ONE EXCEPT USSSS KILLS THE HUMANS!!!" Superboy is overseeing a small bit of reconstruction in the Financial district; it's undergone some recent out-of-the-norm damages that for the most part are minor, but the cold and chill have made things a bit more difficult for the workers. That is where Kon comes in, currently hovering in front of the megatower that acts Halo Corporations HQ (also secretly the base of operations for the clandestine group Stormwatch) the young half-Kryptonian hovers with a piece of steel that will he will eventually flash weld in to place. "You're in the way Superboy. We got this." One of the workers on a scaffolding shouts up at the young man. "Nah, it's cool. I was passing through and it's cold out. I can help you guys." The worker pauses and converses with a female's voice over the headset, "Tell him to move along. We don't need his assistance." Kon-El recognizes the voice, Jules Newberry, Mr. Marlowe's personal assistant and recently a thorn in his side, albeit a hot one but still... "I heard the woman. Good luck to you guys!" The lad of Steel isn't clueless he realizes being there looks a little too conspicuous but he's on the side of bored and then it begins. Screams that cut through the hum and machine noise of Metropolis. His hearing easily picks out the sources and the young man quickly becomes a black and red blur as he makes superhumanly haste to Midtown. Go time. Among the pedestrians: one Stephen Strange, on his way home after an early morning house call to a haunted frat house. A satchel stuffed with clothes ruined by ectoplasmic vomit is slung over one shoulder, and a medical bag full of talismans is dangling from his other hand. A red and gold scarf and heavy black overcoat - mercifully spared during the messy exorcism - protect him from both the winter air and undue scrutiny, because his supremely colorful sorcerer's garb is underneath. Of course, it stops somewhere around his knees, so his black tights and slippers are still visible; luckily, he has the legs for them. Just before the initial explosion, a soft golden glow just barely shines through his coat, prompting a light frown as he squints down at it; at the BOOM, he flicks his eyes up to frantically examine the street, and by the time the gladiators begin emerging, the Doctor's mortal trappings are vanishing in flashes of golden light. "Remain calm!" he exclaims, voice rising above the chaos as his scarf lengthens into a billowing cloak; Sam's telepathy will probably do much more to keep people moving, but a strong, authoritative voice might still prove calming. "Do not panic--" With rapid twists of his hands, he begins conjuring shields around nearby pedestrians; they probably won't hold under a focused assault, but they should, at least, be enough to protect them from stray arrows and other such collateral damage. "--you will all live to see another morning!" The BOOM of the cryoquake itself is enough to catch Diana's attention, never mind the tremor that shakes the building after. Within the Themysciran Embassy, she looks up from the paperwork that has finally piled up high enough to force her to take a morning to attend it - whether she wants to or not. Pushing back smartly from her desk, she rises, crossing toward the door. Emerging from the office, she starts moving at a jog through the Embassy corridors. "Are we under attack?" she asks of a passing guard. "Not directly, Princess," the guard replies. "But Metropolis may be." That's really all the information the Amazon princess needs. "Call our sisters to arms. We must help." The guard barely has time to reply in the affirmative before Diana is running, pausing only long enough to spin into battledress (not armour - usual heroic garb) before she's out the door and lifting into flight toward the epicenter of the 'quake'. Airborne as he is, Superman will be able to see the shape of the invasion. Clusters of creatures with curling horns, jutting bones, and rocky hides, garbed in ancient armour, are merciless in their attack. Their purpose is unclear, at first. Some attack indiscriminately, weapons slick with the blood of fallen civilians. Others, however, merely menace and, perhaps, attempt to corral the human herd. The strongest apply their considerable sinews to ripping the tops off cars and extracting those unlucky few they find trapped within without heed to their continued well-being. The energy Jocelyn perceives, however, cannot be easily traced back to any one source. Each creature seems to possess enough energy on its own, natural or not, to mobilize itself without guidance or impetus from an outside catalyst. If there is a magic user controlling these creatures, it's not an active force. There's no magical wi-fi at work, here. They've all got their own batteries... just like any living creature. Sam's efforts aren't for naught, however. The humans near him seem to regain control. One or two even start making helpful suggestions to allow others to more easily escape. There's more of a sense in that vicinity, now, of an orderly evacuation. Too bad the invaders perceive that, too. A trio of them, each with a different weapon - one a sword, one a net and trident, one a hulking great axe - leap into the midst of these civilians and start swinging. Hood's bullets rip into pale flesh. The blood that drips from the wounds is black and brackish. The effect of the bullets, however, varies from creature to creature. The smaller ones are knocked back, and several do not get back up. The mid-sized ones stagger, but are not so easily put down. The really big ones, however... all that does is piss them off, like walking through a cloud of stinging gnats. Agony's screams of rage only serve to attract the attention of a small squad of the horrific creatures. Fearlessly, however, the infernal gladiators leap and begin climbing toward the alien monstrosity, as happy to contain it as they are to corral humans. Like Superman, the airborne Superboy will have an easier time of seeing the overall picture. Most pressing, from the direction in which he's come, however, are the 6-gladiator brute squad starting to throw cars indiscriminately into buildings and people alike. Strange's shields are effective at delaying the monsters, buying fleeing civilians a chance to escape. His mystic energy, however, attracts attention. A pair of the creatures turn toward him and begin leaping over cars and corpses to reach him. Notable to the sorcerer will likely be the tattoos and arcane symbols scarring their hides. They certainly speak loudly of dark sorcery at work. KRACKABOOOM! The blue-red flash and the white-red flash are apparently Superman and Krypto, but they don't go slow enough for anyone to decipher it properly. Every so often, a group of enemy creatures freezes inexplicably. It's not hard to figure out who the pair are that are doing the freezing. But as the enemies begin to cleave through civilians, Superman becomes visible. His face tightens and his eyes burn as he sees the battle's death toll initiates. Superman lands on the ground and doesn't bother with the pleasantries to the other heroes. He seems to be a man on a mission. He approaches a traffic light, and wraps his hands onto (it's too big to go around, of course) and simply plucks the traffic light from the ground. Sparks fling into the air in every which way but the Man of Steel pays them no mind. "Everyone duck!" Superman twists the large metal baton and lifts it horizontal, barely 5 feet off the ground. He's hoping the civilians duck, but that the hordes don't know English. Just in case, Krypto heads out in the foreground and headbutts the creatures in the stomach to get them to stand up right. After that? Superman heads down the boulevard with the Hordes as the grass and the traffic light as the lawnmower with special respect towards those 6 gladiator brutes who Kon seems to be looking at!!! Jocelyn frowns. No source visible. That was almost as annoying as when the wi-fi was down. The woman takes a step back and frowns. "Magical constructs, huh?" Jocelyn is about to consider opening up, but then she notes the other heroes who have shown up. Right then. When there were plenty of other heroes to do bad guy butt kicking on this scale, the teenager knew there was one thing she could do that the other heroes here, to her knowledge, couldn't do. The tall woman starts dashing around, using her energy healing powers to heal those whose life energy she perceives to be fading the fastest, trying to save as many lives as possible. She does make sure she's out of the way of Superman's attack when he makes it though, not wanting to get accidentally hit by it. When she heals someone, she makes it a point to get them out of the fray. "Down that way, I don't see anything there," is the short version of the message Jocelyn gives to her patients. Sam takes aim at one of the approaching 'Deadites', for lack of a better term... putting a round right between his eyes. He's mostly playing defensive at the moment... at least until he's done encouraging the civilians to beat cheeks. Thankfully the heroes who are also on the scene have been handy in keeping the majority of the dead focused on them. See, this is why you don't wear colorful spandex and draw attention to yourself! But with most of the Civilians no longer needing encouragement not to trample each other...and the "Magic Guy" shielding those who are still in danger, Sam pulls free his other custom handgun. Bounding and leaping with what if anyone was paying attention would be 'Superhuman' agility... atop of the hood of a delivery truck. Where he draws aim and delivers headshots on the ones bearing down on Dr. Strange... since he's obviously focused on trying to protect the civilians. "I wonder if I can write off those Zombie killing video games on my taxes as a business expense!" Duck? Duck?! Seriously? Red Hood's helmet sags a little as he watches the oncoming traffic light lawnmower. These heroes. Always making life difficult. With a well-practiced move, Jason twists the bike sideways and lets it fall towards the ground, wheels outwards as he skids along the pavement, his momentum carrying him forwards while the traffic light passes over his head. He twists the wheel again when the danger is clear, and the bike pops back up to it's proper driving position, careening a little bit before Jason manages to bring it back under control at which point it lurches to a stop in the midst of a group of downed zombie warriors. Slowly, he turns his head this way and that, taking it all in, before he twists on the bike to look back at Superman and shout, "I totally had these guys!" One of the civilians hurrying past jumps at his shout and looks back over his shoulder towards Jason while he flees, who promptly mutters, "I did," at his retreating back. With a swift motion, he drops the kickstand and hops off his bike, wanders over to one of the still moving, but definitely immobilized warriors and empties the last of his magazine into its skull. "Asshole." He flicks his leather jacket out of the way so he can slip the gun into a free holster on his back and crouches by the decaying combatant, his knife already in hand. Carefully, he digs into the creature's flesh and pulls the knife free -- now coated in black blood -- which he promptly brings back to his bike. There, he locates a hidden compartment with a few swabs and evidence bags and takes a sample of the blood before he stashes it back away and wipes his knife off on the pants of one of the fallen civilians. "Right," he murmurs, looking back towards the action, "Looks like they've got that covered..." His gaze turns towards a manhole cover and he moves over to it so he can begin working it out of place, "Let's see where these guys came from." With that, he pulls a small flashlight from one of many pockets on his person along with a hefty handgun, and drops down into the sewers. An almost demonic hiss escapes the ebony and violet human-alien abomination clinging to the nearby tower. "YOU WOULD CHALLENGE US?!" Agony screams its fury, its amorphous body mass writhes and produces tendrils tipped with razor sharp edges. "US?!! YOU WILL DIE FOR THIS INSULT!" A quiet follows, the menace sitting perfectly still and exhaling misty clouds into the air even the undead throngs encroach upon its territory. "...BUT THEY'RE ALREADY DEAD! OR ARE THEY?! ... WE'RE SO CONFUSED! YOU WILL SUFFER FOR CONFUSING US!!!" A few moments later, a loud crash and the penetrating wail of a car alarm comes as the creatures are swiftly ejected from the building into the roof of a vehicle. Leaping from the vehicle with a severed skull in tow, Agony throws it at a nearby pair of undead and charges like an angry black rhino in an attempt to embed them in another wall. A tiny rhino made of living ooze. "KAAAAAAH!!" "Battle!" Superboy cries out with a triumphant shout. Yeah, clearly he was bored and is far too eager for this mayhem. Kon-El already has a scope of who is here, the O.G. of course and Krypto already whipping up on the Mutant League Football team from Sparta. A black / red flash of motion and the Clone is punting a lobbed car towards the Hudson Bay. It'll make it and fortunately there isn't a driver (hopefully it doesn't randomly hit a passing boat on touchdown). One car after another is diverted in similar fashions as Superboy takes on the monster squad of brutes abruptly clearing enough breathing room to make his move and take out two of them in one fell sledgehammer like flying pound. FUMPKRAAAK Snow and rocky debris plume up from around where Kon-El and the two mythical goons impact. At least the car lobbing is momentarily stopped. It'll give the others who are fighting some small bit of headroom knowing they got artillery being taken care off, at least that is the plan to some extent. Superboy rarely plans too far ahead. The glowing amulet attached to Strange's chest flares momentarily as the dark pair advances on him; without missing a beat, his hands shift from tracing intricate patterns in the air to thrusting forward as he turns to face them. "There are dark forces at work here!" he informs--well, everyone; his voice is still reverberating powerfully despite the chaos consuming Midtown. Eldritch sparks dance along his hands until they reach his fingertips, where they blossom into scintillating globes of destructive magic-- --just in time for Sam to bust caps in both of them. "Thank--" he begins to offer as he looks from the gladiators to the shooter, only to stop and squint for a prolonged moment upon finding him. "--you," he eventually finishes, clearing his throat. This, at least, is not mystically amplified. With a flick of the wrists, beams of colourful destruction lance through two other gladiators, and then cups his hands around the Eye of Agamotto and takes to the air. "These creatures--these warriors were summoned here for nefarious purposes, but perhaps some vestiges of honor and dignity linger in their hearts!" He closes his eyes, linking his senses with the otherworldly perceptions of the Eye; the battlefield becomes a wash of swirling energy patterns and emotional resonances punctuated by a field of enchantments that glows like a sinister star field.. From these, he picks out the few with the gentlest intensity - those that look the weakest, and thus the most susceptible to alteration - and with focuses his will upon them while murmuring in a long-dead tongue. There aren't many flashy mystical patterns of lights to accompany this display of power, but one of the two gladiators that Agony is charging towards stops its rampage for a second before lifting its axe overhead and turning towards its fellow warrior with a murderous gleam in the places where its eyes once were. Elsewhere, a brutish mountain of a gladiator stops chasing after a group of fleeing civilians to lumber into a detachment of smaller gladiators and scatter them with a few swings of its massive club, and a pair of bow-wielding warriors begin loosing arrows at the squad who Kon and Superman are already working over; once that pool of targets runs dry, they'll almost certainly seek out more undead targets, provided that they last long enough. Diana soars above the fray, taking in the same view as the Kryptonians. Her eyes are drawn to the biggest brutes, many of them at the center of the fray. Those are the ones most of the others helping out will have greater challenge with. For her? Well, fate will tell. Amazons emerge from the Themysciran Embassy, splitting into rescue squads. Where possible, they direct fleeing civilians into the safety of the Embassy grounds, setting up a fierce perimeter to keep the demonic gladiators back. Meanwhile, their Princess dives toward one of the great brutes at top speed, fists extended as she hits. BOOM! It's something of a double boom, actually, given the freight train Superman becomes with his traffic light. Lesser gladiators are cut down where they stand, disintegrating into shattered chunks of flesh that then dust into black sand. The stronger ones, however, are knocked down. Some manage to regain their feet. But not all of them. Those big ones, however? Those big ones are heavy and tough enough to give Kryptonians and Amazons alike a run for their money. There are cops in this city. Cops, EMTs, fire fighters. And, the NYC emergency services people are among the best in the world, thanks to the tragedies in the city's past. So, Jocelyn will soon find that she has help. Cops she heals regain their feet and start trying to herd the crowd toward perceived safe-zones like the Embassy and those places beyond Strange's shields. EMTs start helping with triage, funnelling the worst her way. There's no end to it. A bullet between the eyes, Sam will find, is a highly effective way of putting the gladiators out of everyone else's misery. At least, it is with the lesser ones, and even some of the mid-sized ones. The big ones, though, they have tough hides. One of the larger mid-sized ones leaps at the bounding ape with an impressive pair of spears in his hands. The skull of the creature unlucky enough to be the target of Red Hood's ire explodes in a mess of black ichor and sickly dark grey-matter. It twitches and lies still, a flail dangling loosely out of a clawed grip. The blood Jason collects congeals on the knife. An hour from now, should the bloody vigilante check that sample, the edges of the knife will be pitted and mildly corroded. But, that's an hour from now. The sewers into which the Hood drops, however, are rank and cold, but there is little in the way of evidence to suggest the creatures may have originated there. As Agony cuts through their fellows, more of the Gladiators turn towards it. Their weapons flash and swing. It's quickly going to become a gory, gruesome pile-on in that section of the battle. Severed limbs go flying. There are often sprays of black blood and howls of rage. At no point, however, is there even the slightest thought of retreat. They will defeat the creature called Agony with sheer numbers. (Well, that's their plan, anyway. They're not the most sophisticated strategists.) Damage Control is simply going to love dredging all those cars out the river there, Kon. But, then, given the damage to Midtown as a whole? Yeah. Those guys are gonna be getting a lot of overtime pay, this week. Good thing they're so efficient. But the brutes he slams explode in chunks that disintegrate into black sand, as each of the demonic corpses ultimately does. At least there won't be a lot of gruesome body clean up at the end of this. Save for the civilian casualties, at least. Not everyone has been saved. Another brute turns to face Kon-El, bigger than the last two, net and trident in its hand. And a sharp-toothed smile on its face. As Strange's magic takes control of some of their fellows, some of the gladiators stop in confusion. When they find themselves skewered by arrows or sliced by axes, however, they are quick to raise shields and swords and attack their attackers as freely as they do the more-and-less heroic defenders of the human city. In the very center of the intersection, there is another crackling boom. A crack of blue energy and black shadow swirls in the center of the space. The hulking form of a 10' tall warrior appears. He has pale white skin, black, pearlescent eyes, and is hairless. Rock and bone stick out from his back and joints like armored spikes. And that's in addition to the ornate armor he wears - armor more suited to a Hoplite solider than the demonic countenance he presents. Ram horns curl over his head, through splits in his help. A black plume rises from the helm. His shield is stout and heavy, but fashioned of plain silver without ornamentation. His sword is bronze, impossibly sharp, and heavy, but appearing weightless in his massive fist. A dark blue light animates his eyes and he surveys the battle like a lesser god of war. Superman staggers as one of the gladiators smacks him right in the chin. The Kryptonian's two step back give his enemy the upper hand. The Man of Steel brings his hand up to his mouth as the surprising sting of pain is dampened by his touch. But there's little time to waste. The Gladiator gives a double axe-handle to Superman's forehead, sending him sprawling to the ground; his hands sliding upon the cold, wet pavement as he thumps to the ground abruptly. Emboldened, the Gladiator from Hell raises a sword high up into the air; it event glints in what little sun there is, and prepares to give the Kryptonian the coup de grace. *ROWR!ROWRWRORWORW!* Krytpo attacks from behind, pulling the sandal out from under the legs of the Gladiator and putting him flat on his back. Another headbutt to the chest knocks the Gladiator out for good, just as Superman's getting back up off his chest. He turns his head to see Krypto sitting happily, tongue out, and wagging his tail. "Come on boy, enough messing around. Let's go take on that big one!" Superman gathers himself and heads towards the 10 foot tall monstrosity. With the EMT around, Jocelyn will continue healing the most wounded. She can't fix a severed leg or anything like that, but short of that, Jocelyn can get people back on their feet. The mutant is keeping her hood up and face hidden during all this, of course. Mutants have a thing about not being known, and she is keeping an eyeball on that big, nasty one that coming up on everybody. If it comes near where people are being treated, then she'd step in to help deal with it, but honestly, with Superman, Superboy, Wonder Woman, and the others all around, it wasn't as though she was concerned that the heroes needed any extra firepower to take it down. "You can thank me later!" Sam replies though doesn't notice the strange look he gets from Strange. As the larger mid-sized one leaps towards him, Sam opens fire with both guns... trying to put it down. "Crap... Crap... Crap!" Sam shouts, quickly rolling back from the spears that just miss him... and pretty much destroy the hood and engine of the delivery truck. Sam pauses a moment, glancing down at the shafts of the spears so close between his legs. "Jesus.... almost got Bob Barker'd!" Taking the chance that the spears are stuck for a moment, Sam kicks at the dead warrior's head.. his apelike toes grappling the sides of it's face as he attempts to gouge it's dead eyes out, and rip it's head off with the strength and leverage of his powerful legs. This'll likely look awful weird to anyone who can't see Sam for what he really is. Red Hood swings his flashlight back and forth in the dark and damp sewers, muttering to himself about magic and its disrespect for common sense. "So they didn't come up from the sewers," he decides, upon discovering his fifth clue that there are no clues to be discovered. With a grunt, he heads for the nearest manhole so he can return back to the streets, forcing it up and out of the way as he turns his head this way and that to be sure he's clear of rampaging warriors before he hops up onto the pavement. As he comes up, he puts down two more smaller corpses with a bullet to the head, then returns the manhole cover to its proper position. After a quick glance around, he starts to make his way back to his bike, sheathing his knife. "Didn't come from the sewers. They came from the mist. The mist, of course, being untraceable. Unless..." He has a hunch, but to follow it out he needs some more heavy duty tech. The kind of tech not stashed away somewhere on his bike. With one final glance over his shoulder to the combat, he revs his engine and roars off down the street, heading away from the chaos and towards one of his safehouses. The creatures that menace the alien hybrid with an intention to pile on will have their work cut out for them. Trying to capture Agony is like trying to catch a pissed off, psychotic, jumping spider. Almost every swing or strike either finds air or grazes the amorphous being; walls, floor, and through the air by way of pitch black organic fibers it goes, screaming its unbridled rage all the while. Anyone nearby had best watch themselves though because when she isn't outright smashing their skulls she's webbing them, sometimes several at a time, and swinging them around like living(?) flails. And Agony really, really, does not seem to care who or what they hit... Finally, though, one manages to club the menace in the backside and send it sprawling. What is left of the squad attempts to exploit the opening and put it down for good. It'd almost be a blessing to the world if they did... IF... And as they pile on, the 'hair' of the symbiote transforms into bladed protrusions and jut outwards like lethal spikes. The oily, black, blades pierce through the unfortunate few who happened to get close... and they quickly disintegrate from the acidic substance that it secretes from its mass. "...NO ONE MARS OUR PRETTY FACE! NO ONE!!!" The alien screams again, with its blood red tongue lashing at the air angrily and its 'hair' practically standing on end. Silence in that portion of the street ensues, and the alien hybrid realizes it is alone. And tired. Leaping into the air once more, it latches onto the nearest building with organic webbing and flings itself out of the area once more. "THIS PLACE IS TOO MUCH LIKE RAVENCROFT, WE HATE RAVENCROFT!" "There are dark forces work here? Well duh. Someone fire the narrator and hire Morgan Freeman." Kon quips at the Sorcerer Supreme as he hauls himself up out of the crater he had created. Standing there covered in the black ichor a moment Kon's hands abruptly shoot up and cover his mouth, "I think I swallowed some." It is at that point in time the biggy-sized trident rams itself in to Superboy's torso and drives him back in to the ground from whence he'd just crawled free with the force of a freight train. "BLAARGHHH!" Projectile and green-to-black the chunky Kryptonian bile showers the Gladiator giant in a responsive counter followed by a rapid heat-vision salvo. "Manners! You didn't even offer to hold my hair, jerk." Twin red streamers trail behind Kon as he bludgeons his opponent with forward momentum and pummeling assaults. Unmindful of the pain the trident had caused, the taste of regurgitated Ham & Cheese omelette㊉ Goo or the chaos around him - he won't stop until this dude goes down. Besides sexy super deadly Amazons and an AD HOC crew of do-gooders make for a good vanguard against invasion even with the arrival of that new helmet-y badass. Right? Right. Doctor Strange turns all three of his eyes on the towering spike of malevolent energy that's just entered the fray and recoils at the sight of it; breaking the link between himself and his amulet offers some relief, but he's still grimacing deeply even after seeing the giant for what he is. He doesn't waste time on trying to subvert the monster, as that brief glimpse of the patterns around him were enough to confirm that such an effort would be wasted; he doesn't try to push his makeshift fifth column to turn its attention towards the giant either, because they're doing a bang-up job of keeping some of the other gladiators busy by slaughtering and being slaughtered. "While I enjoyed Lean On Me as much as anyone," the Sorcerer Supreme replies over the crackling energies building around his hands, "I fear that Mr. Freeman would be a poor substitute today; powerful as his voice may be, it would be but a bare whisper in the ears of the powers at my disposal." The light swirling around his hands takes on a distinctly red cast as his fingers contort into arcane shapes, and then to further his point, he utters, "I summon the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak to contain this monstrosity's dark urges!" and thrusts both hands towards the giant. A dozen or so bright, mystical chains snap from his hands to ensnare the giant's arms, legs, body--whatever they reach first, they will encircle. How long they hold, though - or, indeed, if they hold at all, given the giant's might and Cyttorak's appetite for destruction - remains to be seen. There's a mini crater where Diana impacted a brute. A mini crater and a pile of black sand that is even now blowing away in the wind. The Amazon rises from those ashes, only to find herself facing the crackle of light and shadow that coalesces into the... what? General, perhaps, given the plume on his helm. Without taking her eyes off him for a minute, she stoops and picks up the sword the pile of sand behind her once held. "Withdraw," she tells him, voice firm and frank. "You cannot win this fight. We will not let you." It's not a threat. It's a promise. "You are wrong, Amazon. This is a fight you will not win. Even should you destroy every one of us here today." His voice is deep and dark, a rumble of bass power. Sub-woofers would kill for a rich bass sound like that. James Earl Jones would be embarrassed by the tenor it makes of him. He is heedless, however, of Superman's approach, his eyes only on the warrior Princess before him. The EMTs working triage doubt anyone can restore severed limbs. But if Jocelyn can stop people from bleeding out? Well, that's a gamble they'll take. Even so, most of them are aware she's only one woman, no matter that she's obviously a mutant. They work with what she can do, and are happy for the help. And, soon, they are joined by Amazons helping to evacuate the wounded to the protection of the Embassy grounds. The spearman leaves his weapons embedded in the truck in favor of trying to wrap his clawed hands around Sam's heavy ankles, seeking to pull his feet from his head. He lets out a roar of challenge and begins pushing forward with his body, even as he pulls out with his hands, seeking to drive Sam back into the side of the truck. The Red Hood makes good his escape, Agony away not long after. The only evidence of Agony's gory fight are tangles of organic webbing stained with black sand and drying ichor. Meanwhile, the trident-wielding monster dripping puke, hardly takes time to shake himself off before Kon is crashing into him and sending him backwards. Asphalt ripples and cracks, furrowed by the pair. What ensues is a cross between a wrestling match and a boxing championship. But, never doubt the power of a pissed off Kryptonian teenager with a stomach ache. That gladiator's remaining breaths are numbered, and they are few. Strange's voice echoes across the battlefield as he summons the Bands to ensnare the demonic General towering over the Amazon. The red chains whip through the aether, wrapping around the General's torso, pinning his arms to his sides. His feet are planted, however, sturdy on the earth. Roaring in rage at the unexpected confinement, he strains against the bonds. But, for the moment, they hold. For the moment. With Diana doing the talking, and Strange on the snares, Superman realizes this moment, and perhaps only this moment, will be his chance. With a little extra oomph, he flies even faster; Krypto soars behind, yapping away. His hands curl into large balls as the buildings, creatures, innocents, cars and debris all whiz past him. The skin on his face ripples as the wind blows it backward. As he approaches the Giant, Kal-El aims straight for the chest, hoping to knock the Giant down in one punch. Jocelyn will continue helping out with the medical work, though she does take a moment to watch Superman take a swing at the giant. It was always good to pick up some tips from watching other heroes work. She considers channeling a blast, but decides against it. Once everyone she can do something for is taken care of, the mutant will make her way off, slipping away in the chaos. Sam offers a growl... not of pain but of rage as the Spearman grabs his ankles. Mama told him there'd be days like this. Wait... dammit, not that's going going to be in his head all day long. He struggles and rocks forward, digging in his coat and pulling free some of his art supplies... Xacto Knives... which he drives into the face of the creature... trying to get it to let him go. "If you only had a brain...." Sam growls to himself, and then decides to give it a try. Hoping that there's some intelligence there that can be effected. Hopefully it's not some demonic super intelligence that fries his brain. "Let... Me... Go." Sam focuses his psychic powers directly on the Spearman... using his powers to try to convince the creature to decide to do just that. No joke on the remaining breaths being few as Superboy drives the Retiarius downwards with a slam to the shoulder then rockets him the opposite direction with an uppercut that even the Hulk would feel. The fight ends up looking like Gerry Cooney and Ken Norton with the giant toppling backwards to continue getting assailed by the clone until he stops moving. He'll probably also want to retire like Norton. A heaving tattered S rides up and down as Kon collects himself and turns to look over the rest of the /battlefield/ in time to see Kal-El, Wonder Woman and Dr.Strange confronting the general. Sam's struggle not going un-noticed as Superboy flash-lunges over to offer aid in the form of a Full Nelson. Clear out the rabble then they can help deal with the big-wig (if required). Plus it looks like Sam is just some random citizen in need of aid. "I got yer back, pal." Not only are the Doctor's bindings physically slipping from the General's powerful frame - segments of them grow slack and momentarily slip away each time the brute strains in his confinement - the mystical stuff that they're made of is disintegrating. Little pieces of it evaporate into ruby smoke as Cyttorak's Bands are recalled, bit by bit. It would seem that, rather than outright ignore his supplicant's call, the demon has settled on savoring the fearful anticipation of letting the General slip his leash incrementally; if the Doctor's phenomenally powerful allies aren't able to vanquish - or entreat - the giant in time... "The bindings--" Doctor Strange hisses through clenched teeth and seething pain just behind his eyes, "--I'm doing what I can, but the creature's power--the spell will be exhausted in a matter of seconds!" "That," Diana says in reply to the deep-voiced fiend, "remains to be--" BAM! Superman's hit drives the General deep into the pavement. The asphalt buckles, chunks of it exploding. Diana takes one step back to brace herself, crossing one bracelet over the other to shield herself from the debris. "--seen..." she finishes softly. Channelling a blast would be overkill, to be sure. But siphoning energy off to keep Superman's impact from cracking buildings throughout midtown? That's something the young X-Man can do. And it's probably something Jocelyn ends up doing instinctively, before she slinks away, given the training the mutant heroes have no doubt given her. Sam may be surprised, however, to discover that the creature he faces does have some form of intelligence guiding it. An individual intelligence, even. Of course, he may also be surprised to discover that the intelligence is human. Or rather, it was. Once. A long, long time ago. Now? Now, it is killing desire incarnate and little more. Black blood seeps from the thing's face where the x-acto blade pierces softer portions of its skin. Lips peel back from sharp teeth and it hisses angrily, shaking its head to try to dislodge the blade. This disorients it and weakens its grip, just as Superboy arrives and completely skews the odds entirely out if its favor. (Gosh darn.) It strains and roars, but, ultimately, between the psychic ape and the Kryptonian teenager... It's toast. The vapor that was the Crimson Bands rises from the hole in the earth into which Superman slammed the general. With a roar, the General breaks their final hold and throws the Kryptonian off. There is a crack and a boom. Shadow and ice spread through the sewer tunnels into which the Man of Steel and the rock-hided general fell (causing more water mains to burst... d'oh!) and the General disappears in a crackle of blue-black light. Fog rises and swirls, a strong wind throwing up black sand from disintegrated demonic bodies like a blizzard. All anyone can do for several minutes is cover their face and heads to keep from being blinded by the flying grit. When the wind finally subsides, the demons are gone. The street is empty of all but the heroes, the wounded, and the brave men and women of NYC's emergency response services. The city has been saved, again. But, for how long? Category:Log